I microwaved everything, that's how I stayed so
nosy. A cornfield was, by turns, complacent,
erotic, antiquated, and contemplative,
with its rusty sides, mold outbreaks
crows, and once we even saw the skeleton
of a fawn curled up, it must have died at
no more than a few days old. My friend who is
a rabbi gave me a song to sing, beads on a string,
a book to put my lost wishes in. She cut up
an apple, the generosity of life managing
to hold itself together long enough to become
sweet, something you could dip your toes in
and cry out. We hunted collapsed houses
in the sea of desolation past Cedar Street
no cameras, no matches, no romance
just the sticky hours of a few afternoons
soaking our eyes in the weeds and insect wings
without a trigger or a madness or a discipline.
Time is the teacher, the substance of thought,
what is taught. The lab equipment is inexpensive
durable and stretchy as skin. It fits into
a shot glass and burns like hell on the way in.
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